


simulation

by notictus



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bad end, Comeplay, Crying, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Extremely Dubious Consent, Gangbang, M/M, Manipulation, Mind Break, Mindfuck, Overstimulation, Praise Kink, Something Isn't Right, The Thinnest Veneer Of Porn Logic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:35:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22234129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notictus/pseuds/notictus
Summary: “I know this is hard for you,” Mr Stark murmurs. “But I can’t have you out in the field until I know you’re prepared for anything. Can you hang in there a bit longer? For me?”
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark/Tony Stark/Tony Stark/Tony Stark
Comments: 19
Kudos: 271
Collections: Exchanges After Dark Birthday Bash 2020





	simulation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StormySocks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormySocks/gifts), [StormyDaze](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormyDaze/gifts).



> You said you wanted me to make Peter cry ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

“Mr Stark, do you really think that—”

Peter breaks off with a gasp. Another set of hands is grabbing his hips, and it’s all the warning he gets before the man behind him lines up and starts slowly pressing into him. The stretch is inexorable, a relentless pressure that has Peter pushed to his limits. By this point, Peter’s already taken two men, and his rim feels tender and sore where it’s stretched around the third man’s cock.

“Do I really think what, Pete?”

Mr Stark’s voice is inflectionless, as if this were a routine exercise—as if they were testing out a new webslinger formula or something equally mundane. Peter grits his teeth as the man behind him begins to fall into a rhythm, punching the breath out of him with every perfectly-measured thrust.

 _Do you really think we need to keep going_ , is what Peter had intended to say. But Peter can’t bear to fail this test, can’t bear to see the disappointment in Mr Stark’s eyes. So instead he says, “Do you think the third will be the last?”

Mr Stark frowns. “We can stop at anytime you want.” He sounds concerned, as if he’s intuited what Peter had meant to say, and Peter hates himself for betraying his own weakness. “Remember, this is just a simulation. None of this is real.”

“It sure _ah_ ”—Peter gasps at a particularly hard thrust—“it sure feels real.”

“Of course it feels real,” Mr Stark says, looking down at the tablet in his hand. “It wouldn’t be a very good simulation if it didn’t. Besides, your vitals are fine. Elevated, sure, but that’s to be expected.” He returns his gaze to Peter. “You’re doing well.”

Peter flushes at Mr Stark’s words, although by this point it’s probably impossible to tell. When he’d arrived for his training session today, he never dreamed he would end up like this: on his hands and knees, splayed out on the workbench, fucked by Mr—

 _No, not Mr Stark,_ Peter reminds himself. _It’s just a simulation. It’s not really him._

But it sure feels like him.

All of the men generated by the simulation are carbon copies of Mr Stark, and every last detail is perfect; from his soft, brown eyes, all the way down to the scuffed toes of his work boots. Peter had been shocked when the simulation had commenced, and he’d been immediately surrounded by men who resembled his mentor perfectly. He’d believed it even _less_ when he’d found out what these men would be doing to him. 

The _real_ Mr Stark sits opposite Peter, tablet in hand and legs crossed at the knee. He looks—not bored, not exactly—but disinterested. He’s observing Peter with a clinical detachment that’s somehow even more humiliating than any of the embarrassing sounds Peter’s let fall from his lips. The tablet is supposedly monitoring Peter’s vitals and assessing his ability to remain calm in stressful situations. But Peter can’t help but feel this situation is akin to a scientist noting observations on a clipboard.

If Mr Stark is the scientist with the clipboard, then that would make Peter the lab rat.

Peter feels that more than ever as the man starts to pick up speed, thrusting into Peter harder and faster. Peter collapses onto his elbows after a particularly brutal thrust, his face pressed against the grainy surface of the workbench. Peter can no longer clamp down on the sounds that are being fucked out of him, tiny whimpers and moans falling from his lips with every snap of the other man’s hips. Peter knows the other man’s nearly at his end, can recognise the pattern from the other two men who’d fucked him first. Sure enough, the man stills only moments later, spilling hot and sticky inside Peter as he grinds out the last of his orgasm. Peter moans pitifully, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes. He feels filthy, dirty on the inside—as if he’ll never be clean again.

“Well done, kid,” Peter hears from across the room.

Peter’s too humiliated to raise his eyes to Mr Stark’s. The man behind him pulls out with a disgusting sound, drawing a whimper from Peter’s lips. Something hot and wet leaks out of Peter’s ass, and Peter can only imagine how he must look—head down and ass in the air, come leaking out of his hole as he keeps his legs spread in invitation.

“Was that—”

He breaks off, unable to complete the question for fear of the answer.

“Was what?” Mr Stark asks from far too close. Peter looks up and Mr Stark is suddenly crouched right in front of him, carding a gentle hand through his hair. When had he moved? Surely Peter would have heard the scraping of a chair, the sound of his boots on the concrete floor. Peter reflexively flinches away from the touch, then immediately chastises himself. _It’s just a simulation. Mr Stark would never hurt you._

“Was that the last one?” Peter asks eventually.

Mr Stark tuts. “We already discussed this, kid. These are the sort of tactics that can be used against you in the field. When someone wants to extract information, they’ll stop at nothing to get it. The violence is bad enough, but to have it doled out by a familiar face? That’s just the icing on the cake.”

Mr Stark caresses the side of Peter’s face. The gesture is so tender it makes Peter’s eyes sting with unshed tears. “I know this is hard for you,” he murmurs. “But I can’t have you out in the field until I know you’re prepared for anything. Can you hang in there a bit longer? For me?”

Mr Stark’s hand feels unnaturally hot where it’s pressed against Peter’s cheek. Peter knows that all he has to do is say the word and this will all vanish in an instant. Just one word and he’ll find himself fully dressed and unharmed, sitting on the sofa in Mr Stark’s workshop. The thought strengthens his resolve.

“I can do it,” Peter says after a long pause. “But—”

Peter shouts as one of the men grabs him suddenly, pushing into him without warning. Peter’s hole aches as it’s forced to stretch around his fourth dick of the evening, and the tears he’d been holding back finally fall from his eyes.

“Knew you could do it, kid.” Mr Stark ruffles his hair affectionately, then rises to return to his seat.

“Wait, Mr Stark—”

Peter’s cut off when another man approaches him from in front, grabbing Peter by his hair and forcing him to look up into his eyes. It’s a harsh contrast to gentleness that the real Mr Stark had shown him moments prior. The man steps in front of Peter, blocking Mr Stark from view. Peter’s briefly overcome by a panic that sets every one of his nerves alight. Mr Stark was the one thing that was tethering him to reality; just the sight of him was a comfort, a reassurance that Peter could call this off at any moment. And now that he’s hidden from view, the thought of being unable to get his attention is frightening.

But Mr Stark is still monitoring his condition. Surely he would end the simulation if he thought Peter was being pushed past his limits?

Peter doesn’t have long to ponder the thought before the man’s strengthening his grip on Peter’s hair. He drags Peter up so he’s on his hands and knees again, forcing his face level with the other man’s cock. He presses his dick to Peter’s lips, wordlessly demanding, and Peter, unable to resist, opens his mouth obediently.

Peter would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about Mr Stark like this, hadn’t thought about Mr Stark pressing inside him, filling him up. It’s been a staple of his jerk-off fantasies for as long has he could remember. The fact that he’s been—not infatuated, but _interested_ in Mr Stark makes this feel just that little bit crueller. Mr Stark is bigger than Peter imagined; he’s thicker, too. The man before him has only pushed in halfway, and Peter feels his jaw begin to ache with the stretch of it. Having Mr Stark’s—no it’s not Mr Stark, Mr Stark would never—having this man’s dick forcing Peter’s jaw open makes Peter realise just how badly he aches. Even after taking three men, the cock in his ass feels impossibly huge, splitting him open with every thrust. And now that he’s finally got a look at Mr—at this man’s cock, he knows why.

The man in front of Peter quickly grows bored with Peter’s half-hearted attempts to suck him off, and decides to take the reins. He grabs Peter’s head with both hands, positioning him right where he wants him, then forces his cock all the way past Peter’s lips. Peter’s throat spasms reflexively, tears leaking from his eyes as he struggles for air, and after several moments of breathless struggling, he finally remembers to breathe through his nose. The man groans with satisfaction as Peter swallows around him, and Peter’s toes curl as his face burns with humiliation.

It’s the first time that any of the constructs has made a sound.

Before, the men had been passive, doing things _to_ Peter, apparently without deriving any gratification from it. But more and more, Peter’s noticing signs that they’re actually _enjoying_ using him. At the start, the men had fucked him in a way that was perfunctory, almost robotic. But the man in Peter’s ass is fucking him harder than any of the others, groping Peter’s ass and keeping him spread as he uses Peter’s body for his own pleasure. When he finally comes, he moans full-throated, burying himself to the hilt and holding Peter tight. He stays inside Peter for longer than any of the others, as if he wants to make sure Peter’s full of his come, and Peter can only close his eyes and pray that this man the last.

Of course, he’s not that lucky.

Just as Peter’s getting used to the man fucking his throat, the man in his ass pulls out roughly, making him whimper. The come has barely begun to trickle out of Peter’s abused hole before another man is taking his place, grabbing Peter’s hips and pressing in without hesitation. Peter can only groan around the cock in his mouth as the man sets a brutal pace, fucking Peter with the kind of force that jostles his entire body. Every thrust pushes the other man’s cock deeper and deeper down Peter’s throat, and Peter is caught between them, utterly helpless as he’s stuffed from both ends.

The extra stimulation seems to be pushing the man in front of Peter over the edge. He grabs Peter by the back of his head, holding him in place as he comes down Peter’s throat. Peter chokes and splutters, his jaw still forced wide open as tears stream freely down his cheeks.

“Fuck yeah, that’s it.”

Peter freezes. None of the constructs have spoken so far, and to hear their voice— _Mr Stark’s voice_ —sends a frisson of fear down Peter’s spine.

“You took it so well, kid,” the man in front of him says, slowly pulling out of Peter’s mouth. His dick leaves a smear of come on Peter’s lips, but Peter’s too busy spluttering to wipe it away. “You’re a mess,” he adds fondly, gently swiping his thumb over Peter’s lip. He pushes his dirty thumb into Peter’s mouth and Peter closes his lips around it as if by instinct, sucking it clean. He sounds so much like Mr Stark—the pitch, the timbre, the tone—all of it as perfect a replica as everything else around him. The resemblance makes Peter shudder.

But this is all part of it, part of the test. This is what Mr Stark had warned him about. This is why he needs to be trained. It’s all just a part of the illusion, a test that’s been designed to break him.

And Peter’s not going to give up that easily.

The man in front of Peter draws away, and Peter can’t even catch a glimpse of the real Mr Stark before another man’s taking his place.

“C’mon kid, show me what you got,” he says as he pushes his cock past Peter’s lips. In any other situation, Mr Stark talking dirty to him would be like a wet dream come to life, but now it only makes his humiliation burn brighter. The man groans has Peter swallows him down, carding his fingers through Peter’s hair just as the real Mr Stark had done earlier. Peter closes his eyes and enjoys the gentle touch in spite of himself, even though he knows it’s not real and it’s just another tactic to break him down.

“There you go,” the man murmurs as he forces Peter to take his cock all the way to the base.

This time, it’s easier. Peter knows what to expect, knows to relax his throat and just let himself be used. The man behind him seems to be taking his time, pulling out every so often to drag the head of his dick through the mess that’s leaking out of Peter’s ass. Peter actually moans the first time he does it, the slick feeling of his dick against Peter’s oversensitised rim sending an unexpected spark of pleasure up his spine.

The man chuckles. “You like that, don’t you?”

With a dick down his throat, Peter can only whimper in response. But the man doesn’t seem put off.

“Guess I’m going to have to see for myself,” he whispers in Peter’s ear. Peter jumps when the man gets a hand around Peter’s cock, and it’s at that precise moment that Peter realises he’s been half-hard for most of this. The man tightens his grip and strokes him firmly, the simple touch making Peter moan around the cock in his mouth, making him shiver as unwanted pleasure courses through him. The man jerks him off with quick, efficient strokes, just how Peter would usually touch himself.

After the onslaught of stimulation, it shouldn’t be surprising that Peter comes embarrassingly quickly. The men around him laugh when Peter comes, shuddering through an orgasm that leaves him feeling weak and hollow. Peter’s eyes sting with humiliation, his cheeks burning blazing hot.

_This is all part of the test. You can endure this. You can still end this at any time._

But the more Peter tells himself that, the less he believes it.

The man behind Peter seems to tire of toying with him after that. This time when he pushes in, he doesn’t mess around, just uses Peter’s body until he’s cursing and fucking his way through his orgasm. Peter whimpers as he’s filled again, and he can feel come leaking out of him before the other man even pulls out.

“C’mon kid, you can do better than that. Keep it in.”

The man pulls out and immediately plugs Peter with his fingers, collecting the come that’s dripped down Peter’s balls and scooping it back into his ass. Peter whimpers around the dick in his mouth as the other man toys with his rim, stretching it out even more and tugging on it painfully. Peter’s dick gives a pathetic twitch when the other man fingers him deeply enough to touch his prostate, and is met by a low chuckle from somewhere behind him.

“You’re taking it so well,” the man says, zeroing in on that spot. Peter’s toes curl as the man rams it again and again, hating the way his body responds to the stimulation.

 _You can still call this off_ , Peter tells himself. After all, none of this is real—it’s all in Peter’s head. And even if it were, he could use his super strength to fight these men off him without even breaking a sweat. He’s not in any danger. He’s okay. He’s in control here.

It almost comes as a surprise when the man in front of Peter finally comes, spilling down Peter’s throat without warning. Peter had gotten used to having a dick down his throat, forcing his jaw open and keeping his mouth stretched obscenely. It feels almost strange when he pulls out, and Peter swallows around nothing as he tests the soreness of his throat.

“Well done,” he says, patting Peter on the cheek. It’s the way you’d praise a dog for its obedience, and Peter hates the way that hearing that kind of praise from Mr Stark—or someone with his voice at least—makes his dick leak where it hangs heavy between his legs.

The man in front of Peter steps aside, and Peter’s already raising his eyes, waiting for the next man to take his place. But something across the room catches his eye.

Mr Stark’s chair.

It’s empty.

The tablet sits discarded on the armrest, but otherwise there’s no sign of the real Mr Stark.

“Mr—” Peter coughs. His throat is ruined. The man fingering his ass laughs as his cough turns into a whimper. “Mr Stark?” Peter’s voice is faint and scratchy when he calls out. He feels as though he hasn’t spoken in hours, his entire vocabulary reduced to a litany of moans and whimpers. “Mr Stark, are you there?”

Panic takes hold, setting Peter’s nerves on edge. He swivels around to see if Mr Stark is somewhere behind him, but his head is forced down by a powerful hand on the back of his neck as the man behind him pushes him down onto the workbench. He withdraws his fingers from Peter’s ass and presses down on the small of his back, effectively immobilising him.

“Wait,” Peter says against the wooden surface. “Hold on, I think we should—”

“Pete?” Peter hears from somewhere to his right.

Peter’s heart stutters. “Mr Stark?”

“It’s okay Pete, I’m here.”

There’s something about the warmth in his tone that makes Peter want to believe it’s the real Mr Stark. But the simulation is so vivid, so effective, it’s impossible to distinguish what’s real and what’s merely a construct of his imagination.

Peter tries to get a glimpse of Mr Stark, but the hands holding him down won’t budge. Peter feels a third hand—presumably Mr Stark’s—run up the side of his thigh, petting him in a soothing manner.

“It’s okay,” Mr Stark says again, and Peter can’t help but respond to that tone, the tension easing from his muscles slightly.

The hands holding Peter down disappear abruptly. They’re immediately replaced by Mr Stark’s hands as they stroke his back, then over his hips and down his thighs. Peter melts into the touch, too far gone to care about how he looks like this—bruised and ruined, scratches down his back and come smeared between his thighs.

“I’m so proud of you,” Mr Stark murmurs. Warmth blossoms in Peter’s chest. “You did so well.”

Peter did well. Surely that means it’s over now. He did it. He passed the test.

Peter wants to say thank you, but his voice seems to be disconnected from his brain. For a long time he just drifts, losing himself in Mr Stark’s gentle touches and in the comfort of his praise. Mr Stark’s hands run down his back once more and come to rest on the curve of his ass. This time, Mr Stark digs his fingers in, spreading Peter open to expose his abused hole.

“Wow, Pete,” Mr Stark says softly. Peter twitches under his scrutiny. “You should see yourself.”

Mr Stark dips his thumbs into Peter’s hole, spreading him wider. Peter lets out a pained sound as his sensitive rim is stretched wide again.

This isn’t right. Mr Stark would never touch him like this.

“It’s just leaking out of you,” Mr Stark says in awe. Peter’s hips twitch as he tries to wiggle out of his grasp, but Mr Stark holds him still.

“Shhh Pete, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Peter whimpers as Mr Stark presses two fingers into him, the slick glide making an obscene noise in the silent room. Peter gasps as Mr Stark finds his prostate and begins rubbing it, wringing pleasure out of Peter’s exhausted body.

“Mr Stark,” Peter says—or maybe begs, he isn’t sure anymore. Something feels off, but Peter’s brain can’t catch up, and he’s too exhausted to fight back.

“Shhh,” Mr Stark says again, but something about the tone is wrong. Mr Stark withdraws his fingers and seconds later, there’s a familiar pressure at Peter’s hole. “It’s okay, Pete,” Mr Stark says, rubbing Peter’s thigh. Already, another man has stepped into position in front of Peter, pressing his cock to Peter’s lips.

Peter opens his mouth obediently.

“You don’t have to worry,” Mr Stark murmurs, slowly pushing into Peter’s unresisting body. “It’s okay, Pete. It’s only me.”


End file.
